Heart of Ages
by Kamagua
Summary: With the fall of Deathwing and the defeat of his vile plots, the world wallows in a great age of prosperity - a golden age for Azeroth.  But amidst glorious times looms a foredboding shadow.  And in this darkness, one man learns how twisted love can be.
1. Chapter 1: A Man's Meat

A young man, adorned in raggedy cloth sits patiently outside an alley. This man, Hadver Frinnen, waits eagerly for his counterpart to return. Oh, how this man has waited. Hadver quietly rolls the remains of a wholly eaten apple in his hand. It, of course, was fresh and crisp not an hour ago. Not that it really matters to him. Why would it? It's just an apple. Er. Well. An apple core, now.

He sighs a heavy sigh as he peers at the store across the dirt path.

He tries his best to appear distracted. Or focused. Anything to draw attention from himself. He has been waiting there, in the exact position, for quite some time now. Eventually someone is going grow suspicious. Possibly. That or he is simply paranoid. The thought has crossed his mind once. Or a dozen times.

Of course, in his line of work, being paranoid would be considered…a requirement…

Then, as he thinks he might call this one a failure, he catches sight of that hideous hat a blind man could see. Hadver frowns as his friend shifts with nervous eye through the crowds. Brin has never been one for a straight face. That boy couldn't play a game of cards if he wore a paper bag and a muzzle. He has more tells than an oracle on a dark brew of steamweedle ale.

Hadver rolls the core in his fingers one last time before flicking it into the crack of a nearby building. He eyes Brin as the boy leaps up the curb, scuttles with stiff limbs up to him, and stops. The two eye other. Hadver peers at those wide, gleaming blue eyes that are surrounded by the naturally sickening pale blood-elf flesh. His eyes drift, for just a second at the small, lopsided sack placed upon his head. That disgusting lump that he somehow thinks matches. Bleh. Blood elves and their "fashion."

"Had. Haddy. Haddoski," chirps the little happy bird Brin as a smile sweeps his face, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. "How's it going, my friend?"

"Brin," replies Hadver with a stern, frustrated brow, "if you don't show me what you got, I am going to hurt you."

"Guess."

"…Guess?"

"Yeah! It will be fun."

"…Fun?"

"Haddy," Brin narrows his eyes and puckers his lips rather peculiarly, "do you need a dictionary? You seem confused by my words. Or. Wait. Am I not speaking properly again? No. No. No! I knew I shouldn't have trusted a toothless man to teach me how to speak common!"

Hadver takes a deep, irritated breath before placing his face into his palm. "Brin. Just tell me what you got."

"I cannot tell you if you do not understand me!" Brin shuffles oddly in his spot. "Haddy. Tell. Me. If. You. Un-der-stand. Meeee."

"Brin, you raging nitwit, do I look slow to you?" Haddy continues to speak through his outstretched fingers that cover his face. "I speak common, you blasted ninny!"

"But…I don't!" Brin begins to shake and pace in a panicked manner.

Hadver eyes the boy and quickly scans his surroundings. He notices that his friend here has begun to draw attention to himself. That is something they simply cannot have happening.

"Brin," Hadver grabs the boy and pulls him down, "You speak just fine. Stop squirming. You are drawing the birds in, you little worm."

Brin blinks and slowly lets his eyes sweep side to side. The boy scans to be certain that no one is watching. He awkwardly casts a glance at nearly every single person in his sight before pulling close to Hadver and whispering, "Salami."

Hadver cocks an eyebrow, "Have you lost it, elf?"

Brin struggles with a small pouch before pulling out a long, cylindrical item that is wrapped heavily in paper and tied with strings.

"Yohan's famous salami roll." He holds the meat delicately and unwraps one end. Calmly, he presents the item as if an offering to king. "He gets this once a month. It melts in your mouth and leaves you begging…for more."

He wags the stinky slab at Hadver, "Go ahead. Taste it."

Hadver peers down. He peers up. He peers side to side. Thankfully, not a single eye lands upon him and his overzealous, loud-mouth friend. Possibly the first time in his life, his concern isn't about the possibility of getting seen doing allegedly misguided acts. No. He just doesn't want to be seen by anyone while another man wags a slab of stinky meat at him…

"No. Brin. I do not want any."

Brin shrugs and leans back calmly. He places his weight upon a lip while he takes a large, almost barbarous bite from the salami. "Your loss," he says while spitting tiny bits of meat from his maw.

Hadver cannot help but glare at the boy as he chews feverishly. "Please tell me you got something else."

"What else does a man need?" He takes another bite. "A man and his meat. Now that is a good payday."

Hadver sighs again. "You were in there for almost an hour, and you got one stick of meat? Nothing else? Nothing?"

Brin nods halfheartedly – his focus squarely on his meal.

Once again, Hadver throws his face into his palm. Normally, at this point, Hadver would have contemplated hitting the boy with something. Actually, he would find great irony in smacking the man in the face with his own meaty reward, but that would definitely attract someone. Not everyday do you see one man beating another with a sack of animal parts tightly compacted into a convenient, heart-stopping roll.

Of course, it is at this same time that a commotion brews from down the main road. Hadver peers through his fingers as a set of armored figures upon what appear to be colorful chickens emerge upon the path from behind a set of buildings. Each one positions themselves on either side of the path and waits with firm posture and eerie stillness.

A third rider appears upon the same style of strange mount, but this bird appears as if solid white. Hadver does notice that the bird seems to glisten a majestic silver when it rotates in the light.

"Is that them, Haddy?"

An odd smirk stretches across Hadver's face as he peers at the three riders. "Yeah. That's them."


	2. Chapter 2: Not A Lucky Day

Hadver keenly eyes the three riders. He takes note of the way they hold themselves. Every twitch they make. Every action they take. Hadver dots each and every movement with fierce precision and rabid obsession. Brin, on the other hand, simply chews ferociously and waits patiently. This isn't his specialty. Anyway, he has feasting to do.

Seconds creep away. Minutes slip and slide painfully by. Hadver aligns what he has gathered, never breaking contact with three. He waits as patiently as his counterpart – even if their reasons are utterly separate. One cannot be too overzealous in this business. One wrong move and you are hanging from the gallows. One wrong move and its all over.

Hadver keeps focused.

His eyes locked.

His mind waiting.

Any minute now.

Any. Second.

Then, as if a chiming triangle from a cook's mess hall, the alarm he is waiting for catches his ear. He snaps to his feet as the sounds of pounding hooves echo down the path the three riders wait upon. He moves swiftly, the leather shifting with his body. He glides with utter focus, the cloth wraps around his mid-drift and neck rolling to the breeze. His eyes do not move. They do not break. He doesn't even blink.

Hadver moves like the wind. He is but a blur in his dash; so fast that the first rider can only catch a hint within a startled dust cloud. The rider doesn't have a clue. A swift snap of a wrist catches the rider on the back of the neck and he goes limp. His stead doesn't even notice as he slumps and falls off its back.

The rider upon the white bird turns to catch a glimpse of the wrought ally. But a glimpse is all that is allowed. A loud burst erupts beneath the rider's majestic bird and the creature shoots into frenzy. The bird takes to wild feet, sending its mounted guide flipping head over heel. The rider's head smacks horrifically into the stone below and becomes motionless.

It takes a blink of an eye for the third to be alerted to the screeching ride. A moment too long. He is hit on the side of the head with a large, dense object. His vision blurs and fails him as he is knocked unconscious almost instantaneously.

Hadver takes a moment to relish in his rather impressive work. One, two, three royal guards taken out in a matter seconds. Not bad. Not bad at all. Alas, time is short. No time to waste on his ego. He spins and darts down the path they had so feverishly guarded.

A large wagon rolls to a stop as the driver snaps the reigns to a large, wooly ox-like creature. There is no room to navigate this oversized cart and this driver isn't a warrior. He was simply called for his services. He isn't a fighter. So he cannot help but a flinch as the agile human bounds effortlessly up the carriage and leaps to his side. This poor driver freezes, reins quivering in hand, as the towering man peers eerily down at him.

He isn't a fighter…

Of course, Hadver has no desire to actually spur with this man. With a simple strike to the side of the man's neck, the driver goes limp and crumples in his seat. Hadver isn't a murderer. A warrior, maybe. But not a murderer. That isn't his specialty.

He quickly breaks from the driver and hunkers down. His sight passes over the back of the large, sheet covered carriage. His eyes follow the rippling cloth and land upon another trio of riders.

"Damnit," he spits to himself. He didn't plan on this many guards. Not this close, anyway. They will notice the wagon is stopped any moment now. He could take them straight on. No. Foolish. If one has even the slightest skill with a bow or a keen blade, he will be hanging from the gallows in no time.

He could wait for them to come by. No. That will take too long. By the time they strolled up to him, the prior three may begin to wake up. Once again, gallows his fate. He eyes the three keenly and begins to plot.

"Stop! You! Thief!" Booms a loud, deep voice. "Help! Someone stop that man!"

Hadver watches as tall, pale figure dart behind the trio he eyes. He cannot make out much of the running figure. Only one thing can be made out: upon the sprinting man's head is a small sack of cloth. Behind him, a large, is slow blob that wields a rather ominous cleaver.

"That man stole my meat! Stop him!" Again, the large man screams as he comes to a heaving stop. He pants wildly while he waves his knife in the air. Naturally, the three guards turn and stare for a moment before taking off after the darting elf.

Hadver smirks, "Good job, Brin. Fantastic job."

A wave of relief washes over him and he calmly slips under the cover. He squints in the darkened hold as he looks for what he has come for. Fortunately for him, only a large box rests within the space. Unfortunately for him, a set of well placed locks and magical, glowing runes flicker all around it.

"It would figure," he grumbles as he eyes the installment. He frowns at the box, "Now. What in the world needs this type of security?"

The thought lingers for a moment before it passes. It isn't important to him. He simply needs what's inside. He isn't paid to ask questions. He twists and reaches for the top of the carriage again.

_Maybe the driver has some sort of key_, he thinks. _Or maybe that elf on the white bird_.

He pulls himself out, his mind full of thought. Hadver is so absorbed by his own scheming that he doesn't notice the figure standing before him. He doesn't even heed the individual until it grabs him by the shoulders and throws him effortlessly from the vehicle.

Hadver slams against the side of a building and slides to the ground. Not a moment is wasted as he leaps back to his feet. He swings at his foe as it drops down to him, but this man is fast. Hadver stumbles as an armored fist slams into his face. He keeps to his feet and throws a swift kick.

It is stopped mid-air. Before he can react, Hadver finds himself pulled from his feet. Ground passes his sight. The sky passes by. The ground again. The sky. He spins wildly before slamming back-down into the ground. Dust stirs all around him and blurs his already hazy vision.

He has absolutely no idea what just happened.

Suddenly, he feels a knee rammed in his gut before the side of a thick gauntlet is pushed tightly against his throat. His foe holds over him – almost face to face. Hadver cannot make out the man behind the mask. But he is not left wanting for long.

With the free arm remaining, the victor grabs the jaw of the helm and quickly rips if off his head. Hadver cannot make out the figure. His vision is already skewed and the blurring sun doesn't help. But as moments slip past, Hadver quickly has his revelation.

"Sorry, sweetheart." Hadver flinches at the high-pitched voice and surprising demeanor. She was not at all what he expected. "Today is not your lucky day."


	3. Chapter 3: Foreplay

A gentle bump stirs life back into Hadver. The man rocks in his spot - drowiness slowly dissipating from his veins. After a moment he gains a firm consciousness and he focuses. He must keep still. He mustn't stir anyone that may be around me. He must take his time; feel his environment before any hasty movement.

His body sways back and forth naturally while spontaneous bursts send shudders throughout his person. It takes him a few minutes of patient analysis, but he figures it out. He is in some sort of moving object. A carriage, to be precise.

With that properly deduced, he slowly lets part his eyelids. He blinks once, twice, three times to only find that the light he was expecting is naught; of course, he wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting. Last time this happened, he woke up in a prison.

Anyway, he instantly finds himself sweeping the dark environment. Much of what he sees is skewed by the shadow, yet he can make out rippling light that flutters in from numerous spots ahead of him. Without second thought, he knows what he is looking at is a sheet – a heavy, dark brown sheet. If he didn't know any better then he would have to say that he is inside the cart he tried to sneak into.

But they wouldn't be that dumb.

He sighs and shifts his arms. Pressure builds at the outer sides of his wrists and he glances downwards. As he was expecting, he sa set of shackles locked firmly in their natural habitat. He sighs again and shifts his legs. Oddly, he finds no bindings or links. With full freedom, he stretches his legs. A smile stretches his face.

_They cannot be that dumb_, he thinks to himself.

Though, as a sense of humor sweeps him, he catches a dim twinkle ahead. His eyes navigate towards the source. He can barely keep from an outburst. Directly ahead of him, no more then a few feet away, is a large metal box that is riddled in dim runes. It's the cargo! They did put him into the very carriage.

With a heart of glee and a new inspired self, he shifts in his seat. He wants nothing more than to leap forward and cradle the gorgeous iron case, but he knows better. _Take it slow_, he thinks. _Don't be hasty_. Heeding his own commands, he lifts his hands with bitter patience. Fingers unroll with sour speed and arms outstretch with distasteful calm.

So close now.

His hands are stretched to their fullest.

So very close.

His fingers are almost…

So very, very close…

Then, as he draws to an overzealous, eager-filled moment, he catches an unnatural sheen on his wrists – on the metal that wraps there. He cocks his head as he eyes the faint sparkles. He squints as he peers deeply at them. It as at this moment that he notices an equally as bright gleam from the box he so desires. Once again, he sighs. Runes.

They would be that smart…

"Hi, Haddy!"

Hadver flinches, falling forward uncontrollably. In a blur, the lights on his shackles blare to burning and the box's runes match. A sudden surge of raw energy cascades through his body and he finds himself lurching backwards in agony. His body slams against the rails behind him and he begins twitching violently in his spot.

Fortunately for him, the pain is brief and his spasms are even more so. Once still again, he takes a deep breath and very calmly glares at the person he so foolishly overlooked.

"Brin," he speaks with a controllable tongue, "I'm going to hurt you."

Brin snorts, "Silly Haddy, you won't do that. You like me too much."

Hadver tries with all his might to glare harder at the boy, "No. Really. I like you so much that I am going. To. Hurt. You."

"Aw, that is flattering, Haddy, but there is no time for expressions of love right now," Hadver can just barely catch the joyful gleam of his antagonist's face. "We have to find a way out of here before Fatty shows up again."

Hadver hesitates for a moment. Fatty? Who is he talking about? Did the butcher actually come with us? Seems a bit much for a piece of meat…

A sudden jerk draws Hadver from his own thought. The vehicle rocks fiercely as it comes to an uneasy stop. Once still, a rather profound silence sweeps over the carriage. An eerie silence. One that is broken by a soft crunch of gravel. Steadily growing crunches that seem to radiate from all angles of the craft. Someone is approaching…

"Oh no, Haddy," Brin whispers. "Fatty is coming."

As if on cue, a flood of light fills their hold. Sadly, Hadver is given not a warning nor time to relish in the glow before he finds a fierce force wrapping around his shoulders and an equally as angry force pulling him from his seat. Before he knows what is happening, he finds himself colliding face first into the dirt path.

Dry sand and compacted stone shoots up his nose and fills his maw. Dust creeps in his nostrils and climbs down his throat until he coughs wildly. He tries to close his mouth, but all he manages to do is chew the fine particles in his mouth before choking on both dust and dirt.

"Get your fill, rat," bays the voice of an enraged harpy. "It's the best meal vermin like you are going to get."

Hadver, being his usual stubborn self manages to spit a thick, brown pocket from his mouth before choking out, "I've had worse, you wench."

Once again, before the poor man knows what is occurring, he finds himself shifting positions. This time, however, the pain and jerking ends up with him planted firmly on his feet. Whatever is handling him is definitely strong. Sickeningly so, actually. Yet as his eyes open, and the dust settles from his eyelashes, all he finds is a pale-skinned, rather attractive elf staring back at him.

The same one that put him in these shackles, of that he is certain.

His eyes lock with her rage-filled, maroon pools and he pauses. This woman definitely has some fury in her, and given her _gentle_ actions, he knows she is equally as strong. As the two aspects cross his mind, he cannot help but smile.

Her eyes narrow and her ruby-red lips curl in disgust, "Care to explain the smile, or should I just remove it?"

Hadver keeps firm as she assaults him with her eyes alone. Calmly he replies, "I must apologize, your eyes are simply alluring. They remind me of my school days. Oh, those glorious days."

She simply tilts her head forward, forcing her eyes into an upward stare that are comparable to firing cannons. Hadver, however, continues onward, "Such good days those were." He sighs. "Except for my father. He was a nasty drunk and –"

"Does your story have a point, rat?"

Hadver chuckles softly, "Well, I was just going to say: you remind me of him. My father. Well, A far more masculine version of him, anyway."

The smile on his face stretches while the ruby silvers curl further. A sense of accomplishment washes over him as the woman's skin glows a gentle red and she peers at him as if he stabbed her parents. An odd silence sweeps the two, but Hadver can simply stare at the woman. Triumphantly.

Hadver is so distracted by his own arrogance that he doesn't even notice the woman's movement. The only sensation he recieves before she heaves her fist rearward and rockets it forward is a gentle parting of winds. It is but a gentle tickle before the muscles in his stomach contract to the crushing fist.

Flares of white ricochet across his vision and the wind escapes fully from his lungs. His legs buckle and he begins to collapse, but this woman has little compassion for him. Hadver's teeth shudder and clack violently as her knuckles collide with his jaw. Pain surges through his body, and gravity hospitably tugs at his person. With a dull thud he lands upon back. Dust creeps up his sides, rolls into his sundered maw and nose. The world spins and he is left in a agonizing haze.

Black pours into the fringes of his sight and he grows wildly light-headed, yet as he sinks into the back of his skull, the woman appears over him – kneeling with a sinister grin.

She runs her fingers across his cheeks and through his hair as if a foul succubus at play. And as his world grows black, she whispers to him, "I hope you had your fun, boy." She draws close, her breath heating his ear. Her voice is calm, yet soaked with vile malcontent. "Rat, I. Now. Own. You."


	4. Chapter 4: Into the Light

For the second time in one day, Hadver finds himself awoken by a gentle thud. This occurrence, however, he finds a constant stillness afterwards. Beneath him also rests a quasi-comfortable padding. It almost feels as if he is lying upon a pliable cardboard box. Almost instantly he knows where he is.

He doesn't even need to open his eyes.

He knows.

A cell...

He takes a deep, unpleasant gulp of the dry air then opens his eyes. As expected, he is greeted by almost complete darkness – say for a light that radiates in from over his head. Whatever the source may be, it is nowhere near him. And it is not meant for him. Yet it does allow him some insight to his world.

Just barely can he make out the thick, metal rails of the bunk above him and just barely can he make out the tattered, ill-kept innards of a decaying mattress that hang from their natural container. He takes a second, long drag on the air before calmly sitting upright.

Sadly, a surge of discomfort and soreness ripples through his rattled brain and manifests upon his swollen jaw. He puts pressure on his temples, but this headache is not going to be quelled so easily. It is at this moment where Hadver actually finds himself grateful for the lack of light. This is almost worse than when he discovered dwarven rum. That week is still a blur…

"Haddy!"

Brin's shrill voice plucks a sensitive nerve within Hadver's brain and he jumps uncontrollably. A gentle smack echoes as the poor man's head collides with the bunk above. A moment passes before he settles back in his spot. It takes equally as long for the pain to spread to the back of his brain and oscillate to the front.

Fully tormented, poor Hadver swings his legs over the side of the bunk, squints in dire attempts to avert the pain, and glares at Brin. The little nuisance sits with legs flooded against a set of bars. A gentle light, the same noticed before, christens half the boy's body while the other is left in the shadows. He looks quite ominous with his sheen. Well, he would, if Hadver knew he wasn't so simple.

"Brin," Hadver manages to emit through the pain, "did I mention how much I hate you?"

Brin grunts, "Haddy, do you know what your problem is?"

"I spend my time with you?"

"Of course not, silly," He chuckles. "It's that you are always so angry."

"Oh, is that right? Are you a doctor now?"

Brin takes a moment to think about that before replying, "I always wanted to be a doctor, actually. Except, I was never good at fixing people after I broke them—"

"Brin, that wasn't a serious question…"

A blank look sweeps Brin's face. "Then why ask it, Haddy? Why ask it?"

Hadver cocks his eyebrow. He is perplexed on daft this boy can actually be. "Brin, it's called a rhetorical question. You—"

"Excuse me? Don't use that kind of language when ladies are present!"

Brin stares angrily at Hadver. Hadver stares with utter bewilderment at Brin. The two gaze awkwardly at each other for a couple moments before Brin suddenly breaks eye contact to peer at the light. The rage washes from his face – as if the illumination is some sort of cleansing force. He frowns and shakes his head in disgust.

"Even Fatty is a lady, Hadver. Even Fatty."

Hadver cannot help but bite on those words and he twists. Instantly the light slaps him as if a fouled concubine and he winces in pain. His vision is skewed for a moment, but it all focuses in a matter of seconds. Before him stand three outlined figures that face him and Brin, but keep their faces downward. They huddle beneath a large, hanging lamp and peer down at what he believes to be a table. Either they are looking over some sort of document or that is simply the most fascinating piece of furniture ever made. He cannot imagine.

The one in the middle stands taller than the other two, yet they all seem to hold themselves in the same manner. Given their rather curvy silhouettes and their postures it doesn't take Hadver long to realize that they are women. And, if his guess is right, the tall one is also the same wench. The one he would like to hit; hit with something blunt and heavy.

Yet he knows that is a waste of time. It shall simply suffice to stare at them. Bending over. At their table. That's what he will do. Just stare. He and Brin will simply…anaylze them fully.

And while the two, well-mannered gentlemen gawk with sundered maw, one of them suddenly finds himself a bit perplexed. No matter how hard Hadver stares at them or at their surroundings he cannot figure it out. Maybe Brin has simply lost his mind. Maybe…

Hadver frowns and inquisitively asks, "Brin?"

A moment of silence passes, "Yes, Haddy?"

Another moment of silence, "Have you lost your mind?"

"Um. No?"

"Well, then how do you explain your imaginary friend, _Fatty_?"

Brin snorts, "Haddy, you are just blind. A blind and simple man." He extends his arm through the bars and points. As if that is going to help. "See, Haddy, that is Fatty."

Hadver squints, "There are just three elves, Brin. Three, fine elves."

"Three? Haddy, you need to get your eyes checked."

"What?" Haddy breaks contact with his eye candy to glare at Brin. "Did you forget how to count, Salami Boy?"

"No, silly." Brin chuckles with a touch of arrogance. "There are two delicious elves and Fatty. You know. The one that smacked you up and down undignified street like a sissy."

"Undignified? Who taught – wait." Hadver instantly turns to stare at the taller woman. He scans her head to toe, but he doesn't see it. "Brin. Why the hell are you calling her Fatty?"

"Why?" He wags his arms through the bars. "Look at her. Her thighs are too meaty. Her ankles are huge. Her hips are way too wide and will you look at her butt? Huge, Haddy. Disgusting."

Hadver would normally smack the boy, but such sudden movement would stir the headache. And he doesn't want that.

"Brin," Hadver calmly, smoothly replies. "That is what we normal people like to call a healthy rearend. It's only fat to you sickeningly skinny elves."

"I know, right?" Brin says. "I bet you cannot count her ribs while standing either."

"And I bet you couldn't pick a pretty woman from a line up."

"Hey!"

Both turn and continue their little argument. The two feud with each, blissfully unaware of this room's design. For the three women positioned themselves, as they have time and time before, in the perfect standing for the acoustics to work in their favor. So much so that they can hear each and every word the men speak. Perfectly. Of course, the ladies have no intention of stopping them. Not now, anyway. It simply makes it all that much better...


	5. Chapter 5: Plans

"Boy," snaps the tongue of an enraged man. "Boy! What are you doing?"

Hadver stirs from his slumber. A tidal wave of gentle light washes over him. He blinks rapidly as the oddity alters his senses. He is not quite sure where he is, but it seems familiar.

"Boy!"

Hadver listens as the deep, dark voice echoes through his room and lands upon his trembling ears. That voice seems so familiar, yet he cannot remember it. Or maybe he simply doesn't want to.

Loud, intensifying stomps radiate upon Hadver's ear and he finds himself quivering. A fierce pounding erupts from a nearby door and he curls in his blankets. "Boy!" The man screams again. "How many times have I told you? How many?"

Anxiety overwhelms his body. He doesn't know what is going on. He doesn't know where he is. All he knows is a deep, unnerving terror floods him. All he knows is a sensation he shed so very long ago.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, slamming fiercely into the wall. The very floorboards tremble to the assaulting man as he lunges for Hadver. This man dwarves Hadver in size – he seems as if a giant to him. He is defenseless as the man, veins in his neck bulging and red burning glistening from his flesh, grabs him and shakes him.

"You are useless, boy!" Hadver is thrashed wildly. "Simply useless!"

The man lets go of Hadver for a moment only to gaze with utter disgust at him. This giant shakes his head in disappointment before an odd expression takes hold of his once ferocious face.

"I know where to take you." The giant reaches down and pulls Hadver as if weightless from his bed. He is carried by one arm and finds his feet bouncing from the boards below. "I know exactly where you belong."

Hadver is helpless as he is dragged down a large, towering hallway. The doors, the walls, everything seems so much bigger than he is. It all seems as if a blur as he is fiercely tugged down a flight of stairs. A heavy, glass door is swung open and he is pulled out into the sunlight.

The world is skewed – everything distorted by a thick haze. Hadver can simply make out a large, wooden carriage that lies before him. The man drags him to it, but he doesn't know why.

"I know exactly where you belong," the giant tears open the carriage's door and with ease tosses Hadver onto a padded seat. There Hadver blinks in bewilderment as the giant glares with hateful eyes. "You belong where all useless boys belong…"

The door is slammed shut, and Hadver flinches. He opens his eyes. Darkness welcomes him; darkness, say for a light that radiates in over his head. He can feel his heart beating in his chest. Sweat coats his brow and his body trembles in fright. Without hesitating, he sits upright, swings his feet over the side of the bed and sighs heavily.

A relieving calm slowly washes over him as he finds his normal, long legs and firm hands exactly as they should be. His thick sleeve is used to wipe the water from his forehead while his thoughts race wildly. He braces his hands on the edge of the bed and he sighs again.

He hates that dream. That nightmare.

"I knew it." A sweet, yet despised voice rolls from nearby. Hadver almost immediately knows that voice. That sickening, vile taunt of that wicked harpy. "I knew he wasn't going to show."

Oddly, Hadver finds himself glancing at the lit part of the room. As expected, he finds the tall woman standing near the table. Unexpected, however, he notices that she is alone. Stranger still, she is wearing a long elegant black dress that glows in the dull light. Her hair is nicely done, yet wild strands dance from the mass as if draw on one's rebellious nature.

His eyes wander up and down her body as she paces to and fro. He catches sight of twinkling jewelry lined down her arms and a sparkle of a jeweled belt. Hadver notices a set of long high-heels that do far too much justice to her already alluring figure and he smiles as he thinks how little justice that dress does for her.

He cannot help but gawk at her, worriment and fine make-up painted on her face, arms crossed below her bosom and a sense of weakness he never thought this woman could dare possess. It is rather…attractive…

Her eyes suddenly dart towards Hadver and he freezes, but it is too late, "What are you looking at, hmmm?" The fury he remembers rolls upon her tongue. "You want to poke fun, too?"

She flinches and throws her arms to her sides and stomps, "Well, what are you starring at?"

This rage of hers seems different from before. It is as this moment that he realizes this is his chance.

She glares at him angrily and she readies herself to speak, but he replies before she has the chance, "You. I'm starring at you."

Instantly she seems to calm. Her body relaxes and he can make out upon her tanned elfish flesh a slight trembling. From here, he can see the rage subside and a set of lips form into a cute, inquisitive pucker in the light. For a moment, he can taste that adorable weakness again.

And then it fades with a grunt, and her calm rebuttal, "Well…stop…"

She continues to her pacing, slower now, while she occasionally eyes the man that still gawks at her.

"You do know," Hadver says to break the silence, "you are going to break those heels if you keep pacing so much."

"Forgive me if I worry, human. Not all of us are blessed with such a freedom of a thief."

"Freedom?" he chuckles. "Clearly. I am in a prison cell, and I am the free one."

The elf sighs, throws her hand to her face and slowly trots towards the man, "No. You know what I mean. You humans are just so…empty-headed."

"Empty-headed? Human? What happened to the thief?" A smirk spreads across Hadver's face. "You are making no sense, woman.?"

She moves closer, shaking her head in frustration. "You just won't understand, human."

"Try me."

She glares at him, trying to read his face, but this man is firm. All he wears is a smug smirk and a keen eye that locks upon her in such a way that she cannot help but feel uncomfortable. It doesn't help that normally her sisters do this part. It has never fallen upon her to be the one in the dress.

Once again, she sighs before whispering, "Well. Long story short, the man that was supposed to take me to this little gathering…well," she whispers in a barely audible tone, "he…"

Hadver chuckles, "He stood you up?"

She weakly nods.

"Well then he is a fool."

The words strike the woman dumb. She stares at him, trying to remember her lines, but she finds herself lacking. Everything she practiced and rehearsed fails her and she can simply gaze at him. She cannot tell if he is telling the truth or not. He seems so sincere…

_No_, she thinks to herself. _Just continue on as planned._

But before she can begin, Hadver calmly says, "Why don't you take me?"

Again, she is silent. He wasn't supposed to ask her. She hesitates. _Ok, Viv, keep herself composed. He might catch on to you._ She takes a moment to draw together a line. Any line.

"No," she finds herself oddly saying. "No, I will not take a thief with me!"

_That a girl!_ She thinks. _Now get angry!_

"I am not taking a rat like you! I will simply be humiliated—"

Hadver chuckles again, "Please. No one even knows who I am let alone why I am here. Even if they were to ask, just tell them it was a simple misunderstanding. And, to be the gentleman that I am, I won't cause any problems. Er. Well. Not too many."

For a moment the woman gazes at him again. For a moment he gazes at her. Their eyes lock and a long, lingering second of silence is sung in a thousand unsaid words. Yet, whatever may be heard and silently emitted, they both hear but one word: _Perfect._

The elf turns and heads back to her part of the room while shouting to him, "Let me get his suit. Just. Just give me a second."

She vanishes, her heels clacking her every movement. She stays hidden for a couple moments before returning with a long, matching black suit. Her eyes stay planted upon it as she checks it for imperfections - and to hide her nervousness. Gently she pats some lint from the breast pocket before she hangs it on the empty cell next to his.

Her shoes silence as she comes to a stop, but her mind races. They have done this a dozen times, yet this is her first. They said it was going to be hard. A smirk falls upon her face. It was easy. Too…easy…

Before she can move, she finds herself being pulled to the bars. Something slides under her neck before a heavy pressure leaves her gasping for air. Her slick shoes clack against the floor, but they do not allow her a proper footing. She makes to dislodge the arm around her neck, but the jewelry is too heavy.

He had planned it all along…

And Hadver had, as he squeezes tighter, his hand gripping the bar near the black suit she brought. Just as she had her own scheme, he had his. And now, as the woman flails futilely in his mitts, her soft wheezes and grinding heels all he can hear, he takes this time to relish his moment. He takes this moment to eye her and revel in what all men so desire.

His hand slides down her back and stops at her belt. For a moment he hesitates, an fading instant of regret halting him. But the temptation is too much. And, with yearning overwhelming, he takes what he wants.

As this thief always has...


	6. Chapter 6: Should Have

She once seemed so fierce. Her rage seemed unyielding. Her might seemed untouchable. But now, her will no longer her own, she seems so very different. Once a vile, heartless harpy now becomes a lonely dove starved of flight, gasping for what it so longs for. She, once again, appears weak.

Her once ferocious hands, covered in smooth black silken gloves, claw futilely at the skin on his arm. Hadver's eyes follow the quartet of digits as they gently scrape down his forearm and feebly fall off. An odd residue is left behind, but he pays no attention. His focus is her and her alone.

As she grows slowly still in his arms.

In matter of seconds she will be lost; lost to whomever or whatever cares. In matter of seconds, she will be still and her rage forever lost. In a matter of seconds, Hadver will be a murderer. In matter of seconds, that will be his title.

But that, once again, simply isn't his specialty.

Swiftly, with his free arm, he tears a small pouch hanging from her belt. With ease he releases his grip and watches her collapse to the floor. Instantly, she takes a fierce, seemingly endless drag on the air and begins to cough.

Hadver frowns as he fidgets with what he so desires and apathetically spits, "Breathe, harpy. Breathe."

The elf rolls across the floor with her back to the door. Her hands rub the spot where a most obvious bruise is going to form. She, of course, makes no attempt to reply to the man. Her attention is needed where its at.

Hadver, however, finds himself filled with a bit of glee as he pulls a small toothed piece of metal from the tiny bag. He tosses the sack aside and hurriedly reaches around to the front of his cell door and begins struggling with the lock. It takes but a moment for a gratifying click to fill his ears and equally as short a time for the door to be swung open.

He gently heaves the metal barricade outwards - only slightly disturbing the downed woman. A moment of hesitation grips Hadver as he once again feasts upon what all men so willingly yearn for. What all men are tempted by and desire.

Freedom.

With a swift step he exits his tiny prison. His eyes dart the open space. His mind races. So many possiblities. So little time. Alas, as he anxiously ponders what to do next, an odd sense of concern fills his mind. For some reason, he finds himself eying the key he just so fruitfully stole. For some reason, he finds himself casting a glance back at the woman now sitting upright against the metal bars.

Hadver grunts loudly, "What were you planning, witch?"

She coughs, "What? What are you talking—"

"Don't play dumb with me, woman." He tosses the key at her. "Do I look dumb to you?"

She locks eyes with him and wheezes gently. An expression of confusion sweeps her face. "I…I…"

"You what? Just so happened to find a man idiotic enough to stand you up? And you just so happened to have his suit waiting in a prison?" He angrily stomps. "Oh, and do you always carry your key on you when you dress like that?"

"I…"

Hadver towers over her, fury filling his face, "Don't bother. Just be thankful I am more merciful than you are dimwitted."

He glares at her, a deep warmth rising within. It courses his body and drives him into an unusual state of aggravation. He knows what is going to happen if he doesn't stop it. It, sadly, is a curse his loving father gave to him.

The man takes a deep, calming breath and shakes his head. He feels his body relax and cool – except for his forearm, which still tingles strangely. Hadver finds himself scratching the arm as he peers back at the now composed woman.

He sighs and takes a step towards her. She eyes him with ill-contempt – a step down from her usual rage. Hadver smacks his lips uncomfortably as he stares down at her. He peers awkwardly back into the room before gazing once more at the elf.

For a second time he sighs before reaching an arm out, "Come on." He wags his fingers at her. "Let me help you up."

The young woman stares reluctantly at his hand. She knows full well what that man is capable of. She, of course, also knows full well what he is not capable of. And whether or not it's a façade, she might as well take advantage of his misplaced trust. So, with a single hand, she reaches out and grabs his.

It takes no effort for Hadver to drag the woman to her feet. It takes no time for her to adjust her dress, and no time to compose herself.

"Now, can't we just be friends?" Hadver says with a bit of sarcasm. "I'd hate for our exchanges of violence to ruin a perfectly good relationship."

To Hadver's dismay, the woman casts a sinister, unnerving glance at him. He feels the tingle return before it seems to intensify. In seconds the mild tickling of his flesh grows to a gentle burn. In seconds it multiplies to an annoying surge of pain. Hadver quickly glances downward and his stomach knots. He finds her fingertips, barely visible in his hand, are glowing. He also notices that the residue on his arm also shines brightly.

"Let go!" He shouts as both markings become wildly bright. "You foul wench, let go!"

His hand wretches and his knees grow weak as horrific tidal wave of torment ripples from his arm. The pain is unimaginable. He finds himself falling to his knees while the muscles in his arm contract fiercely.

"How do you like it, rat?" Emits the elf in a sickeningly pleasant tone. "You see, my sisters have a way of dealing with things," she pulls herself down to him, "and so do I."

Hadver attempts to compose himself. He dares to gather himself. But it feels as if his arm is being skewered by searing-hot pokers. Sweat beads on his brow and all his willpower seems to falter.

She almost whispers to him, "Now you have to ask yourself, am I as merciful as you?" She giggles softly. "Want to find out?"

"Stop!" Hadver finds himself desperately crying. "Stop it!"

"Aww, that's no fun." She giggles again. "I thought you liked it rough."

"Just let go! Please! Let go!"

She snorts, "Look at you, begging. You didn't strike me as a beggar. Though, if you were willing to pay me back for your rudeness and for ruining my dress, then I might let you go before your heart stops. Sound fair?"

He grits his teeth, "Anything! Just! Let! Go!"

For a third time she giggles, "Shoot," she releases him, "I was hoping you were going to fight. You are awfully cute when in agonizing pain."

Hadver crumples to the floor. He grabs his besieged arm, but he finds the pain to have subsided fully. His body still feels weak and his body temperature still burns at frightful level, but the torment has ceased. Whatever remains now is simply in his mind.

"Ok, vermin," says the woman as she kneels beside him, peering diabolically into his eyes, "do you remember that box you wanted?"

He simply glares at her.

"Well, it held a gem. A gorgeous gem."

She simply smirks at him.

"And you are going to steal it for me."


	7. Chapter 7: Bowtie

"I should have killed you," retorts Hadver as he rolls onto his knees.

The woman cackles and takes a step back, eying the man's every action, "Oh, sweetie, don't be that way."

"Sweetie? Bleh." Hadver groans in digust as he pulls himself to wobbly feet. "You haven't earned the right to call me that."

"Oh, really." she reaches forward and cups his chin in her hand. Gently, she tilts his head and draws his eye to her face, "I do believe I own you. Isn't that what I said?"

"Say what you want," he shakes his head from her grasp, "but that doesn't make it any truer."

"How about this then," the woman turns and points at the suit behind her, "you are going to put that suit on and you are going to take me to the gathering upstairs. Or I am going to make your arm wither and fall off while you still breathe." She glares at him. "And I guarantee you; it doesn't get truer than that."

Hadver peers deeply into the woman's eyes. They are firm. They are fierce. He tries to read them, but what he finds brings him little comfort. Not an ounce of contradiction rests in them. He could try to fight her, looking for some weakness he overlooked, but he likes his arm far more than he likes his odds.

He stands fully upright, towering over her now, and he grunts, "Fine." He marches over to the well kept suit and pulls it from the bars. "Now where can I change, your majesty?"

She smiles as he says that. Without missing a beat, she points at the floor and leans on her hip, "Right here."

"So. You want me to change. Right here. Where are you going then?"

"I'm not moving, silly. I don't trust you enough to let you out of my sight."

"You're joking, right?"

She giggles, "What? Ashamed of something?"

"Ashamed?" He snorts. "Please," he says as he raises his arms and begins to pull of his shirt. "I just don't generally give shows for free."

In a swift motion, he throws his shirt to the floor. A calm light washes over his seemingly perfect torso and glistens off his muscles. The woman cannot help but smile as she gawks at him. She also, cannot help but smile as she points at him and says, "Your pants?"

"Woah. Woah, calm down, woman. Don't be so eager."

He turns from her and hesitates for a moment before rather reluctantly dropping his other article to the floor. Thankfully for him, he actually decided to wear his underwear today. He holds for a moment before kicking his pants from him. It is then that he is left standing there. Awkwardly.

The woman finds an odd satisfaction. Of course, she would be lying if she thought, by any means, she didn't enjoy what she saw; however, that is not where her fancies lie. No, what spurns the triumph and pleasure of this moment is her domination over him. It has, and always will be, her favorite part.

"What are you waiting for?" She says with a firm, yet anxious tone. "Planning on getting dressed?"

Hadver sighs and peers at the clothing with disdain. He would love nothing less to tear these pieces of clothing apart and to use the fragments to choke the life out of the harpy, but once again, he finds that he still loves his arm more than he wants her dead. Sadly, he does begin to find the levels to be balancing.

With a heavy heart, he removes the solid black pants from its hangar and he hurriedly slips them on. He adjusts himself and fastens the already strung belt. He inhales deeply. He exhales fiercely. _You can use the belt_, _Hadver_, he thinks to himself. _Just whip it off, turn around, and choke her. Don't stop this time. Straight for the kill._

"Today?" She rudely calls to him.

Hadver shakes his head and drags the white shirt and jacket together from their perch. With a single motion he swings both over one arm and then the other. He glances down at the unfamiliar piece of clothing and he frowns. Its been awhile since the man wore something quite like this. Actually, its been far more than just awhile.

He eyes himself for a moment before awkwardly buttoning the bottom button and then hurriedly stuffing the rest of the white shirt into his pants…

"Are you serious?" She shouts. The sounds of clacking heels fill the air. "Turn around, you nitwit."

"What?" He replies as he turns obediently. "What is the matter, now?"

She rushes over to him and eyes him toe to chin. With utter disappointment, she shakes her head and moves towards him. The woman makes for his shirt, but stops short.

Hadver finds himself slightly confused as the woman hovers near his chest, "What? What is it?"

The woman pulls forward and slaps a palm to his chest. She lets it hold against his chest. His rugged, strong chest. She simply lets her hand rest in the exact middle of his chest.

"Really, woman? And I am the one that—"

She rolls her fingers down the middle of his sternum. Her eyes follow along, eying the curves of his midriff with overzealous focus. Every pit and valley is scanned as she gently drags her tips down the middle of his stomach. There she holds for a moment longer before she bites her lip and removes her hand.

"There," she says as she continues to stare, "perfect."

He takes a quick glance at her then at his chest. Hadver makes for a sharp remark, but he notices the thick residue that now holds in an unique pattern on his chest. It is a bit dry and hardly noticeable, but he can see it. That filthy, harlet!

"Now, I don't have to worry about you getting any ideas." She moves forward, and begins buttoning his shirt. "If you do, I will pop," she speaks a word to every button fastened, "One. Of. Your. Lungs."

She slaps his covered chest before adjusting his jacket. The elf eyes the man, examining every aspect and observing every noteworthy portion she can find. A smirk sweeps her face and she nods.

"Not bad, human. I was expecting far worse, but you definitely clean up well." She giggles again. "This might actually—"

She stops herself and notices one item missing. In a blur she retrieves the string of fabric from the hangar and pulls herself uncomfortably close to him. Her hands float behind his head and dance around his neck. With grace she pulls the bowtie to the front and begins to tie.

A long, awkward silence follows as she fights to get it properly fitted. Hadver holds himself perfectly still. Normally, he would have done something ill-minded and improper, but he does like his lung more than his arm and far more than her death. Or her, for that matter. Though, from this distance, and while actually facing her, she does seem far more…pleasing…

She notices him staring at her face and she winces. _Odd_, she thinks. _Not usually where I find their eyes. This one must be denser than the others. Or wiser. Or maybe he just likes his life more…_

"As anyone ever told you have gorgeous eyes?"

She peers at him, a smirk on his face.

She fiercely tightens the bowtie and forces him to grunt as she says, "Don't think your smooth tongue will save you this time, Human. I know your little game." She adjusts the tie one last time and ignores his words fully. "There. Perfect."

The woman takes a step back and smiles. _Impressive, _she thinks. _I am simply amazing. I can make even a human look appealing._

"So," Hadver emits awkwardly. "Since we are business partners—"

"No, human. I am your master. And you are my slave."

He narrows his brow, "Fine. Well, then, does my…_master_…have a name?"

She narrows her brow. "Hmmm, I don't think—"

"If you don't tell me your name, or any random name, you are just simply going to have to burst my bubble." He grunts. "I don't do business with strangers."

She glares at him. She should do just that, but his offer seems fair. "Vivian."

A moment passes.

"And you, slave?"

He glares at her. "Hadver."

She smirks and nods. "Well, _Hadver,_ let me simply say that is going to be a pleasure working with you." Her lips curl into a maniacal smile and Hadver finds himself aggravated.

He takes a step forward, coming close to her. She doesn't flinch. Neither of them blinks. The two simply stare into each other's eyes, launching mental assaults at the other. And as they do, Hadver grunts and calmly, quietly, says, "You are going to regret ever meeting me, woman." He pauses, reading her firm eye. "And I guarantee you; no words are true than that."


End file.
